


The Search for the Maya Codex

by coffeeblack75



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Definitely Silly, F/M, Humor, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Possibly OOC, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeblack75/pseuds/coffeeblack75
Summary: "Chakotay pursed his lips and looked resigned. 'You’ll have to come with me.''What? Where are you going? I do have somewhere to be as well, you know.''I’d rather not leave you here. You could die for one. There’s snakes.' At this he gave a shudder, and had they been in other circumstances, she felt she might have smiled at this reaction from someone who had so far seemed fearless."Written for the J/C Photo Prompt Fic Fest 2020.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 19
Kudos: 30
Collections: J/C Photo Prompt Fic Fest 2020





	The Search for the Maya Codex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gijane7702](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gijane7702/gifts).



> Well! This is quite a different kind of story for me, and my very first AU — and action/adventure fic too! It is a WIP and only this chapter has been written. I promise to complete it, but it might take a while. ;) Thanks in advance for your patience! If you like it, I'd love it if you'd let me know — it'll give me incentive to write the rest!
> 
> Thank you to the amazing [Caladenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia) for your absolutely above and beyond beta (seriously – I would never have got this far without your advice and support!) and to [Bizarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bizarra) for running this wonderful fest!
> 
> For [gijane7702](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gijane7702), who had the wonderful thought of an Indiana Jones AU in the first place and kindly let me steal her idea. ;)

This story is inspired by [this amazing manip](http://www.bizarra.com/Biz/photo-prompts/2020_prompts/Jane_dee_1_indiana.jpg) by the super talented [Jane_Dee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Dee)

(the manip will come into play in a later chapter ;) )

* * *

Kathryn Janeway’s head was going to explode. Her brain crashed against the sides of her skull with every agonising pound, and all the blood in her body seemed to be pooling there. Unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she considered opening her eyes, but the fiery red and orange glow pulsing through her eyelids warned her that would be unwise. Everything was moving, back and forth, like being on the water, but not quite. And, to top it off, boy, did she feel … Her stomach gripped and lurched, and almost beat her brain to the end of the fuse. _Oh no._ _Oh God_ _…_

Finally cracking open a sticky lid, she was assaulted by the light of about a million suns and clamped it shut again as she fought another seethe of nausea.

“Morning,” said a masculine voice from not too far away. “Glad you’re awake.”

He didn’t really sound anything of the sort, but despite the aggravation Kathryn heard in the put-on casual tone, it was a very pleasant, American-accented voice, and soothing to her pained head. Smooth, with just a little edge, like lovely rich, deep coffee … _Oh, mmm_ _…_ A coffee exactly like that would be just the ticket to settle her poor stomach.

She tried to recall the night before, but her head hurt too much to think.

Instead, she opened her mouth. “Ah—” came out, or more precisely, croaked out.

Once the next wave of illness had passed, she made a supreme effort to open her bleary eyes and focus them to her left, towards the sound of the voice.

There was a man, about six feet away, but he was just a black cut-out against the brutal light behind him. Her eyes smarted and watered at the searing brightness and she blinked through the blur. “Your arms,” she mumbled and slurred, her tongue having a delayed reaction to her brain’s command. “Why’re they up like that?” The man’s arms stood straight up in the air.

If only she could stop moving for a second. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She must still be drunk. There had been a lot of liquor consumed, that she did recall.

And so did her belly. _Oh no, oh no_ _…_ She tensed through another violent pitch and roll of her insides. God, she’d never had a hangover like this before. As the revolting wave wound back again, she searched with her other senses.

There was a slight breeze on her face, rustlings and chittering of birds and other wildlife. This was all wrong — her hotel wasn’t near the rainforest. And why couldn’t she move? She tried wriggling experimentally and became aware of a different pain, biting into her ankles, her wrists — which, she realised, were high above her head, like the man’s. What the hell was going on?

The man must have been watching her trying to work it all out. “Now, don’t panic,” he said, butting in, “but we’ve been kidnapped; we’re tied up, upside down from a tree branch.” As if this were the most common occurrence in the world.

“What?” Kathryn’s eyes flew open and for her trouble the light smacked her square. She cringed and tried to take stock.

Looking down, er, up her about-face body, she could see a broad branch, which she was indeed hanging from. It jutted straight out from a huge tree to her right into a space of sky, the already scorching morning sun high up above. The rope from her ankles went up, over the branch and then stretched down again at a sharp angle, beyond where she could get her head around to see. She swayed softly. Precariously. As much as she wanted to be down, she didn’t know how far she was up, and that one line of rope was all that was bearing her weight.

Looking back at the man, she saw he was tied up exactly how she must be — wrists and ankles bound with several rounds of the rope. Facing her.

_Uh._

_Thank God_ she’d chosen to wear pants last night, because she had debated a dress. With this, her sore head began to rouse, and bits of the evening before began to filter through: the bar in Mérida, colleagues from the university, her staying on after they’d left to finish her drink.

Then she remembered something else, a name floating to the surface of her mind as if caught in foul syrup: _Gauleiter Kashyk._ She spat involuntarily at the extra nasty taste that was suddenly in her mouth.

“—Look, I’d love to hang around here _all day_ , but I’ve got somewhere to be,” said the man. “Swing over. I have a knife strapped to my ankle — _to cut us down_ ,” he explained, when she didn’t answer quickly enough.

Why would their kidnappers have left him with a knife? “How did they let you get away with that?”

His sigh was loud enough to stir the leaves. If he could’ve brought his hand to his forehead in exasperation, she felt sure he would have. “I don’t think our kidnappers were particularly smart. And they must have been in a hurry — which is one thing we have in common,” he said. “Can we just not knock the gift horse, and get down? Look, I know you’re not feeling the best—”

“—How do you know how I feel?” Kathryn glowered. He’d known her, what — barely a minute? And he’d already told her not to panic and professed to know what she was feeling? _Men._ Very little had changed since the war. That was why she loved her job. At least the stars and planets up there in the sky never questioned her intelligence, her passions, her ambition, or told her what to think or feel.

“What do you think I’ve been doing while you’ve been napping? I’ve not had much else to do except stare at you the past couple of hours.”

Her face was suddenly hot; he had a point. But still. Couldn’t he have shut his eyes?

“You’re grass green,” he continued. “Not to mention, you smell like—”

“—Now just a minute!”

“—Just swing over, will you?” he gritted. “And let’s get the hell down.”

“Swing?” She tried a tentative wobble. The ropes dug into her ankles and her stomach protested violently. “Why don’t you swing?”

She couldn’t see his expression with the light behind him, but she felt sure a great proportion of it involved a significant eye roll. “Because I’m much bigger than you, and it’ll hurt if I crash into you. I can brace against your weight when you come at me.”

Kathryn sighed. Whoever he was, he had clearly given this some thought. Mind you, it was hardly astrophysics, was it?

“Alright,” she said, and began to move tentatively. Straight away, she felt like she was going to die; well, at minimum, her head was going to burst, her stomach too.

“That’s it— Again.”

“ _Oh_ _…_ ” she moaned thickly. “I can’t …”

“You can. Just keep talking — it’ll take your mind off it. Swing— Keep going. Your momentum—

“—I know how physics works, Mr—”

“Chakotay. What’s your name?”

“Ka— _Oh, I_ _’_ _m going to be_ _—_ ”

“—No you’re not. You’ll wait till you’re down, then you can do it all you want. That’s it, a bit closer. Talk to me. Name, what’s your name?”

She spluttered. “Katie, or Kath. Really, does it—?”

“—Short for anything?”

“Ah— Kathryn, but no one—”

“— _Kathryn_ ,” he repeated. “Right, keep going.”

Hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Somehow, hanging from a tree in the rainforest in the middle of the Yucatán, as tetchy as he was, he’d managed to make saying her plain name sound like he was turning a particularly fine wine around in his mouth. For a half a second, she almost forgot that she was trussed up the way she was.

 _Almost._ She was now achieving a decent arc, the rope was cutting fiercely into her ankles and this man with his far too interesting voice was speaking again.

“That’s it. Next swing, I’ll grab your arm. Lift your arms to your front.”

Kathryn brought her arms up from below her head as he’d told her. Pain tore through her shoulders, and she sucked a sharp breath as her stiff joints and sinews protested the movement after hanging for so long. She pressed into the sway, jaw clenching through the hideous swoop of body and stomach in unison.

As he’d determined, this latest move got her right up to him, and she felt strong fingers grab her forearm and hold, pulling her side-on tight into his body. They dangled together for a moment, waiting for the swinging to stop. The man’s mouth and warm breath were at her ear, his lightly stubbled chin grazing her jaw. _Oh, he smells nice too. Like cedar wood, a little musky_ , she thought, and a swoop of an altogether different variety swirled through her poor bamboozled belly.

“Great, okay, now I’m going to take your weight and push you upwards.” He paused and puffed as he gave her an awkward heave, using his hip and his bound hands somehow as leverage, and she slid down, uh, up his body a few inches. He must be incredibly strong, she realised, to be able to bear a good portion of her weight mainly just on his fingers. “In my right sock,” he huffed out. “There’s a small strap and buckle, around the hilt.”

“I can do it,” she said curtly, more than flustered at the reaction she was having to this stranger she hadn’t so much as even had a decent glance at yet. _Good grief, focus!_ Such a strong reaction was rare for her, and she felt unnerved to say the least. Must be all the blood in her head, she tried to assure herself, and the alcohol too no doubt.

But in any event, she found she had no trouble focusing after all; every ounce of concentration and muscle she could bring to bear was needed for the task. No wonder he hadn’t been able undo the buckle himself — not only was the job made harder by his legs being bound together, the position of the buckle and tied hands, but to get at the ankle, you of course had to curl your body up to reach. And hold there. More than strength was needed to stay in position long enough to get it undone. Chakotay was fit — squished up as she was against several of his major muscle groups, Kathryn was in no doubt as to just how fit he was — but she was agile, and so this was much easier for her.

Her hand slid up his leg, her fingers walking over his awfully soft skin to the small leather ankle sheath, and she started to work at the small buckle holding the knife in. By the time she nearly had it, Chakotay was straining with the exertion of holding her in place, giving terse little gasps, and the muscles in her back and arms were near to giving up.

“Got it!” Kathryn cried with a whoop as the strap finally came loose, and Chakotay exhaled loudly. She eased the knife from the sheath, making sure to keep a tight grip, and clasped her prize hard. “Now what?”

“Don’t drop it,” he said, shifting and moving himself to slide her best he could the small distance down his body again, being careful not to let her go. She couldn’t ignore how her side pressed first into the seam of his bound legs, then her hip against a rather more sensitive place as he relocated her. “I’m going to turn us so we’re facing. Cut my wrists free. And for goodness’ sake, _don_ _’_ _t drop the knife_.”

Kathryn scowled. “Right, I got it, _don_ _’_ _t drop the knife_ ,” she intoned, sing-song.

He ignored her, hooking his feet as tightly as he could around hers so they wouldn’t fall away from each other, then opened his palms out so she could get at the rope. Back and forth, she began to saw at the coarse cord with the small blade.

She could only make small movements. “This is going to take ages.” She blew out from the corner of her mouth to shift the beads of sweat that had run down her neck and now over her cheek and would shortly threaten her eyes.

“Take your time,” he said, an unmistakable slow grin in his voice. It was such a contrast to the impatience and irritation he’d been conveying up to this point that she knew he was as aware of their bodies flush against each other as she was. Kathryn pulled her brows together and concentrated on what she was doing, speeding up the cutting motion.

“Slow down — it’s a sharp knife, I don’t want you to slip.”

“I thought you were in a hurry. Don’t trust me?”

“I have no idea who you are,” he said pointedly. “I only know your name. _Kathryn._ Not much to go on.”

 _Uh_ _—_

Something about those words — was that interest? Did he want to know more? And the way he said her name again — a sentence all by itself, pronouncing each damn syllable in that deep, dark depth of a voice of his, nearly made her drop the knife right then and there.

“Careful!”

“My hands are sweaty.”

“Ah-huh, that’s what it is.”

 _Did he_ _—_ _? Was he implying_ _—_ _?_

She fixed her glare on the rope.

Tough and burly, three tight rounds, nearly an inch thick.

_Just need to get through one._

Tried not to think about the warm hips hard up against hers, but it was impossible. It had been a while, a damn long while since—

“There!” she called out as one thick strand came apart. The man had the rest off and the knife in his hands almost before she’d finished uttering her one word. He let her go and she lurched and reeled away from him.

Kathryn saw him take a deep breath, then, using his weight to his advantage, half-swing, half-hoist his upper body towards his feet, reach up, make embarrassingly short work of the rope at his ankles with the knife, then with a sharp groan — she knew now how painful this manoeuvre would be — twirl himself about on the ragged end so he was hanging by his arms, and let go. She heard him land with an easy, soft thud and rustle, then nothing but that jungle silence of whispered chattering and languid breezes scattering the foliage.

Seconds passed.

Then her rope began to shake.

“What— What are you doing?”

“Don’t you trust me?” he snarked up from somewhere beneath her.

Kathryn clamped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. The branch shuddered and shook above her, and the rope vibrated through to her teeth.

She wasn’t going to panic.

But how high was she? She swivelled and twisted to peer down. There was a glimpse of his head, allowing her to make an estimate finally — he would be about six-foot tall, maybe a little shorter, so she was about ten feet up? Even a couple of feet could kill her if she landed on her head. What on earth was he playing at?

She suddenly felt sick again — which was an understatement, if ever there was one. Gorge rose in her throat and she swallowed hard.

But she wasn’t going to panic.

“For the love of— _Stop wriggling!_ ” came a brusque growl.

“Then tell me what you are— _Oh!_ ”

It happened in slow motion. First the rope suspending her rippled and waved and slackened. Then a rush of air swept into her lungs even before she realised she was plunging down. The rope shot up and over the branch, cut end fraying and twirling in her vision as it whipped over the top after her.

She had barely considered willing her tense body to soften, to tuck her chin in, when she found herself landing awkwardly, shoulders first, in a pair of arms, then felt a chest too, which didn’t make sense at first, but did when she realised he must have leapt the couple of steps between where the rope had been anchored and where she was hanging to catch her, and was now sliding underneath her like a quarterback, then buckling under her weight.

With a heavy whump and puff of air expelled, they hit the ground together, his backside first.

Then time resumed its normal speed and everything was, at last, blissfully still save for their heaving chests.

Chakotay struggled up a bit, until he lay half-sitting, half-sprawled beneath her, leaning back on one arm, the other at her shoulder to stop her rolling off. Her head was in his lap.

And she was staring up into one of the most fascinating faces she’d ever seen.

“Well, you’re not as insubstantial as you look,” he said with a crooked grin as he captured his breath, and then the grin expanded into a proper smile of amusement — presumably at her or maybe their whole situation — and she got her first real look him.

She’d thought his face fascinating a moment ago, but now, lit as if by an internal star, he was something else. The smile had lifted away the irritable tension that didn’t seem a natural fit on him, finding the dusky depths of brown eyes, enlivening the striking lines of a tattoo arching across the left side of his forehead, and softening a strong jaw.

 _Goodness, even dimpl_ _—_

“—Ugh—” she half-whimpered, saw his raised eyebrows and just managed to turn her head in time to vomit the previous evening’s entire horror on his leg.

She gasped, contemplated sitting up. But apparently that wasn’t the _entire_ evening that she’d regurgitated on his thigh; as she started to clumsily lift herself, she discovered there was more left behind, much more. She retched again, and again. At one point through the miasma of her misery, she thought she felt soft fingers skim her skin, lightly stroking back a few tendrils of hair, which had escaped her ponytail, out the way of her mouth.

This was terrible. What a way to meet someone. He’d just rescued her, and she felt a peculiar need to make a good impression — she’d need to put in some very sturdy thought as to why later — and here she was — _Oh, one more round_ — here she was, throwing up all over him.

 _Just swell, Katie_.

Okay, she was done. So done. She lay panting for a minute. But now that the nausea had abated, the true extent of her headache made itself known.

“Finished?”

“Mmm …” she managed, woozy.

“I’m going to sit you up.”

Steady large hands lifted under her armpits and hauled her up, half-dragged her a bit, then propped her against a tree trunk. He crouched down to free her of her bindings. The ropes had cut into her ankles quite badly, and the skin was broken and bleeding in places, her thin socks and lace-up shoes having afforded scant protection. Chakotay turned a foot in his hands with care, inspecting the damage. “You’ll need to get these clean.”

Then he stood and looked down at her, but she could see his mind was already elsewhere. Just as well; she guessed she must look like what she felt — a soggy, dirty, sick-looking rag doll.

She swallowed coarsely and skirted the back of her hand across her mouth, and couldn’t help but grimace at the mess she’d made of his pants. He gave no indication that he even recalled she’d just thrown up all over them.

“We need to get you some water. Then get moving.” He was looking around and past where they were, assessing swiftly.

Pushing her arms behind her, Kathryn leaned back on her hands and attempted to get up, but hadn’t even shifted herself more than an inch before Chakotay had noted her movement, and was kneeling back down on a knee next to her, an arm out to forestall.

“I wouldn’t move just yet,” he said. There was a flicker of something in his eyes and he stopped short of touching her — and she felt oddly pleasant about his reticence.

“I need water.”

“Yes.” Resting an elbow on his knee, he sat back and looked around them, eyes narrowing.

Soporific, weak, Kathryn smiled inwardly, recognising the expression — the face of a strategist. She’d seen that look on her father’s face, many times. Given Chakotay seemed not at all worried about where they’d found themselves, just whatever it was he was in a hurry to get to, she figured he knew this rainforest, had spent a lot of time out here. His face wasn’t exactly weatherbeaten, but it bore evidence of much time spent outdoors if not hardships endured — although she was willing to bet those too — while the creases at the corners of his eyes spoke not just of years squinting at the sun but very much laughter as well.

If his face and behaviour hadn’t conveyed all that, his clothing would've covered much of it, she reflected, finally tearing her eyes away from his features to survey the rest of him. The well-worn light woollen pants — military surplus by the looks of it, or perhaps his own from the war — lighter toned khaki twill shirt, used and abused and cared for model 405 boots.

“Nice Aldens,” she rasped, dipping her chin at the footwear in question. Her throat felt like it was closing over.

His roving gaze settled back on her for a moment, a clear spark of surprise in his eyes. “After we get you some water, you’re going to tell me how a gal like you knows about decent boots.”

“Do you know where we are?” She coughed at the dryness in her mouth.

“Near enough.” He shrugged and resumed his scan.

Something else dawned on her — the sense of urgency that accompanied him, his lack of concern or even surprise at their predicament, his comment earlier about their kidnappers.

“You know who took us.”

This time when he looked back at her she couldn’t quite read his expression. “Yes,” he said, a slight crease appearing between his eyes, “Don’t you?”

“What? I— I …”

“Whoa — stay with me.”

That seemed like a strange comment. She felt fin—

*

When she came to, her vision was filled with concerned brown eyes, dark green inked lines and tan skin. Instinct or something else — later she couldn’t be sure — caused her to reach out as if to trace his tattoo but something more deep-seated stopped her just shy.

“Here,” he said gruffly, as if to cover the care she’d seen in his countenance as she’d swum up to consciousness. His face pulled out of her line of sight for a moment and he slid an arm around her upper chest, lifting her into more of a sitting position — she must have slid down when she fainted. Then something was held to her lips. “Slowly,” he cautioned as he tipped the vessel — a broad, curved leaf held in just such a way so as to create a wide, shallow bowl — to her mouth. She spluttered and coughed but managed to get some down, and over the next few minutes, he helped her to drink the rest. Sip by sip, she regained her wits. Once it was gone she leaned against the tree and looked around. They were in the same place. Where had he got water from?

Satisfied she wasn’t going to keel over again, Chakotay took his hand from her shoulder where it had been steadying her, and sat back on his heels. “You fainted.”

“I gathered,” she said dryly. “Sorry. Honestly, I’m not doing very well today. Thank you for …” She waved a hand weakly, the movement meant to encompass everything he’d done for her so far.

His eyebrow travelled up. “Heck of day we’re having,” he said, his tone a little gentler than it had been before, perhaps in response to her apology.

“You could say that. Where did you get that water from?”

With his head, he indicated left and over his shoulder. “There’s a stream, about a quarter-mile that way.”

“I must have been out for a while.” She still felt pretty weak, regardless of her ‘nap’. Her head tipped up to look at the sky, looking for the sun. “About an hour, looks like.”

At her action, the corner of his mouth twitched. Somehow she found herself wanting to apologise again, realising she’d held him up even more.

A hand went up to fiddle with an invisible hat. He grunted and ran his fingers back and forth through short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair instead. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” She attempted to look brighter than she felt. “What’s the plan?”

“I have a contact I’m due to meet. I’m behind schedule now, but Hansen will wait. Two days’ hike. Hopefully less. But I don’t know what to do with you.” This last he said more to himself than to her.

Kathryn’s head snapped to meet his gaze head on. “Wait, you’re not going back to town?”

“I haven’t got time.” He was staring at her, but through her, mulling over the problem she presented.

Kathryn wouldn’t be anyone’s problem. Pushing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin. “How far are we from Mérida? I can make my own way back. Point me in the right direction.”

He gave her a look that intimated exactly what he thought of that idea. “Been in the jungle much, lady?”

“I— I’ve done a lot of camping.” She paused. “Around Indiana mainly …” she found herself admitting.

Chakotay pursed his lips and looked resigned. “You’ll have to come with me.”

“What? Where are you going? I do have somewhere to be as well, you know.”

“I’d rather not leave you here. You could die for one. There’s snakes.” At this he gave a shudder, and had they been in other circumstances, she felt she might have smiled at this reaction from someone who had so far seemed fearless. “And as I said, I’ve got a meeting to keep.” He looked beyond her and nodded into thick jungle that looked the same as that in every other direction. “Mérida is that way — about three days on foot. The access track they used to get us here will be about 50 yards in.” She must have looked hopeful, because he gave a little shake of his head. “It’s basically unused, and anyone you do meet —” He considered his words. “— Well, let’s just say, it’d be better if you didn’t meet anyone. But if you want to go off on your own, be my guest.”

“But … we’ve got no outdoors gear, no water.” And she didn’t mean just to drink. She looked at her ankles. The rubbed raw skin was starting to look puffy and inflamed.

“Suit yourself.” He stood up and set off at quite a pace — in the opposite direction to town.

Halfway across the clearing, though, he exclaimed and bent down. When he straightened, he had a battered and bent fedora in his hand. Chakotay walloped the hat against his clean leg a couple of times to straighten it back into shape then plunked it on his head. Even with his back to her and from this far away, she could see how his whole demeanour changed. He stood taller, looked more at ease. As if the hat represented something to him far beyond what it physically was. The stirring she felt at the sight wasn’t just to do with being left behind.

“Wait!” she called. Kathryn scrabbled to her feet, using the tree behind her for support. “I’m coming with you!”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter is a line from an English translation of "Piedra de Sol" by Octavio Paz.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I've used some real places, but some will be the product of my imagination. If anyone does notice an error with any real fact/detail, I'm delighted to be corrected.


End file.
